Frivolous

Today I heard that someone I know managed to board a plane (despite of our national airport being closed due to some recent incident which I know you heard of since it is a global news and trending) and landed safely in our home country an hour ago. For the first time in my life I feel a pang of envy. I used to be the one who always going away, I used to be the daring one, the careless one, the one who always going home, sometimes five times a year. Now, I am always the one who is left behind, alone.

There are so many reasons why I can’t go back to how it was. My health doesn’t allow me for one. Two, I have no home to go back to. No family to welcome me and there are no friends left either. And that is what I’m jealous about. I know the very place that someone is going to come home to. I’ve been there myself. I know how beautiful it is. I’ve met her family. Good people. I have walked the very path she is treading at this very moment. I know the feeling, I know the people, I still miss everything. Even the constant rain.

The difference is she really is going home. She was born and grew up there. She walked that road all her life. And that is something to be jealous about. I don’t have roots. She has. I spent two and a half months living her life. My way. The best vacation I ever had. I can still smell the intoxicating aroma of coffee flowers and the constant gurgles of the little creeks along the paths. I can still see in my imagination the way the forest shone with eerie greenish light from  bioluminescent fungi. I can still taste stolen kisses in the dark.

No I cannot go back. We parted ways a long time ago. My decision, her fault. That is here where we both live. I cannot go back where she came from. Too complicated. My fault. I should have known. But I knew even then that it was once in a lifetime experience. I even said it to her brother while we’re walking. He didn’t understand. They never could. 

I’m good at burning bridges but I don’t want to rock the boat. I got that impact. Seem I always left footprints more deeper than I thought. I know for certain (and by experience) that troubles will follow if I dare to show my face anywhere. Either they consider me as trouble or they are troubling me. Why I can’t have a normal existence?

Sometimes I wish it could have been different. But we cannot choose where we will love or the family we are going to be born into. With all the consequences of course. Anyway, She’s there and I am here. And that is a bitter pill to swallow. Life goes on and around. Reminds me of someone I chose not to be with because of the huge difference in status, education, and prospect in life. After ten years, seems he’s catching fast and looks like he will take over soon. What do you know… Life is full of surprises.

Daily Prompt

Colors

How utterly different would life be if humans were made of different colours. Each a different shade. And a change in their colour had a specific meaning attached to it.

One would turn a light lavender while meditating, blood red when angry, a tinge of indigo with the purest beige when shy and shiny white while making love.

And let’s say that once two souls mate for life, they acquire the exact same shade which would never change.

Let death give people time by turning them into a rust, one hair at a time, so that they have enough days to realise it’s not long to live and pursue their hobbies, tell their loved ones how beautiful they’ve made their lives and explore things that their hearts desire.

Let murderers, rapists, terrorists go all black when performing crimes and remain that way forever so that the world could acknowledge their sins which could no more be hidden.

Let a woman turn into the purest gold while giving birth. Let lovers temporarily turn into an orange, like the sky in autumn so that the world can appreciate the beauty in their relationship not based on gender or caste.

And when things fall apart for these lovers, let their beautiful shade fade away like the autumn clouds…

– Diksha Daryanani

Three_Hearts___Black_by_Scyon_Death2